Read Online But He Was Already Dead When I Got There by Barbara Paul - Free Book Online Page A

his flashlight, pointing the beam downward. He stepped into the library, Dorrie close behind. He played his light over the Sultanabad carpet and was startled when two yellow eyes suddenly blinked at him in the light. “The cat’s in here,” he told Dorrie. “Don’t step on him.”
    â€œSimon.” Her voice was high and tight.
    He looked to where her light was shining—and saw Uncle Vincent slumped over the desk in his own blood, grasping an automatic pistol in his right hand. “I think,” Simon said slowly, “we had better turn the lights on.”
    â€œI’ll do it.” Uncle Vincent disappeared as Dorrie’s light moved down to the carpet. She crossed the room and flipped the light switch. “My god,” she said as Simon stepped up to the desk and bent over the corpse. “Is he …?”
    â€œHe certainly is.” Simon straightened up. “Most decidedly so.”
    Dorrie stared at the gun. “Did he shoot himself? Why would Uncle Vincent commit suicide?”
    Simon wrinkled his nose fastidiously and bent again for a closer look. “Don’t bullets make neat little round holes?”
    â€œI think so. They ought to.”
    â€œWell, I don’t see anything like that. It looks to me as if someone just hit him over the head with something.”
    Dorrie gathered up her courage and went to the desk to see for herself. “You’re right—that’s what it does look like.”
    â€œWe’d better get out of here.”
    She put a hand on his arm. “Not yet. We came here to get that promissory note—now it’s more important than ever. Do you want to take the desk or the file cabinet?”
    Bravely, Simon chose the desk. Their search failed to turn up the ever-elusive promissory note; they even looked in the drawers of the two end tables in the room.
    â€œYou know what this means, don’t you?” Dorrie asked, dropping down on the sofa. “Whoever killed Uncle Vincent took it.”
    â€œDorrie, I think we should leave. Right now.”
    â€œWait, Simon—let’s think this through. It must have been Lionel, don’t you think?”
    â€œOr Nicole. She has almost as big a vested interest in Ellandy’s as you and Lionel.” Simon sat on the sofa beside his wife. “Lionel’s the more likely one, though, I should think.”
    Dorrie nodded. “And if it’s that obvious to us, it will be equally obvious to the police. What happens then?”
    Simon spread his hands. “Then they lock him up for the rest of his life. If he were a mass murderer, he’d get off with six or seven years.” Just then Godfrey Daniel jumped up into Simon’s lap and dug in his claws before he could be pushed away. “Ow! Blasted animal.” Simon tried unsuccessfully to disengage the claws, but Godfrey held on with determination; Simon gave up and accepted the situation. “Lionel will go to jail, and since a felon is not permitted to profit from his crime—I think that’s the way that goes—the loan will be called in and—”
    â€œCalled in by whom?”
    â€œBy whoever is appointed executor of Uncle Vincent’s estate, I should imagine.”
    â€œBut how can the executor call in the loan if he doesn’t have the promissory note?” Dorrie persisted. “Simon, Ellandy’s just may be off the hook. I’ll bet Lionel’s already destroyed the note by now.”
    Simon shook his head. “How he hopes to get away with it, I’ll never know.”
    Godfrey meowed harshly, tired of being ignored. Dorrie stretched out a hand and stroked the cat’s back. “Yes, that’s the difficulty, isn’t it? If he doesn’t get away with it, Ellandy’s is doomed.”
    A suspicion began to dawn in Simon’s mind. “Dorrie …”
    â€œLook around you. Look at this room—everything in place. It